Up On The Rooftop
by Duckie Nicks
Summary: House tries to do something nice for Cuddy. It does not go as planned. Post "Unplanned Parenthood." One shot.


Author's Notes: this is a short little piece following "Unplanned Parenthood."

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**Up On The Rooftop  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

He was discovered five minutes ahead of the mental schedule he'd planned for himself. Ever since Cuddy had found the dime in Rachel's diaper, she had been unusually aware of his behavior. Especially the past few days, Cuddy had been bizarrely on top of him. As though some part of her instinctively suspected his guilt, she had interrupted every single machination he'd had – before he'd even had a chance to think of it in some cases. Knowing that, he had factored in the speed with which Cuddy was likely to discover him.

He had given himself ten minutes, fifteen seconds from start to finish, which wasn't much considering. He had to enlist the help of four leggy teenaged blondes, who attracted enough attention on their own. To do that without bringing even _more_ attention wasn't exactly a quick task. So it wasn't exactly surprising that Cuddy found him on the rooftop amongst the young women in cut off shorts and unfortunately-for-him white tank tops as they filled a kiddy pool.

But, as he lamented, the overall effect for him _was_ damning. See, in his mind, when she discovered him, the girls were supposed to be gone, and he was going to be the romantic, sweet boyfriend who created a rooftop oasis for his girlfriend. Arriving too early though, she managed to make that image evaporate quickly, the picture almost hissing through his mind like air being let out of a balloon as reality set in.

At first she didn't say anything, and he didn't prompt her to. In her anger she struggled to prop the door to the stairway open. She raged with the thing, the round toe of her stiletto taking a beating as she kicked the wooden stop underneath the well-rusted metal lip of the door. Her steely gaze glared at him, daring him to say or do something to shift her ire from the door to him. And truth be told, House was tempted to explain himself then, because as long as she was struggling feet away from him, she couldn't do anything _to_ him. But of course, he knew that the second she stopped the door and made sure they wouldn't be locked out altogether, she would come after him. Seeing as how they were on a rooftop, it didn't make sense to goad her on.

She certainly didn't need his encouragement to remain angry. The door finally ajar, she turned to him. In the bright sunlight, it was difficult then to make out her expression. The white dress she was wearing practically glowed, and the closer she got to him, the more his eyes began to water from the sunshine radiating off her clothing. He hated having to look away at that moment; she would take it as a sign of guilt. And on that front, it didn't help that the oppressive heat of the sun was making him sweat. But he had no choice but to glance down at the ground.

"I don't know what your plan is here," she said in a low, deadly voice just for him. "But visitors can't be up here. You need to leave." Only when he slowly looked up did he realize that she was talking to the teenagers filling up the kiddy pool and setting two lawn chairs up next to it.

The girls understandably hesitated. In their position, he didn't think he would have, because Cuddy sounded lethal with barely concealed rage. But he _had_ paid them decently enough to help, and their loyalties remained with the man who had just supplied them with enough weed to make Snoop Dogg jealous. Admittedly the person who had technically supplied them was Wilson (though he didn't know that), but in their minds, House was the man who had done that all in exchange for lugging a few things up some steps. And given that he was also a poor little cripple trying to do something romantic for his girlfriend, the teens were not, exactly, eager to listen to Cuddy.

Naturally she threatened them then. "If you don't go back downstairs, I will have security come up and have you forcibly removed. And if you give _them_ trouble, _they_ will call the police."

Since each of the girls had at least one joint on them, there was no way they were going to test Cuddy. One by one they abandoned ship, the girl holding the hose dropping it unceremoniously into the pool. Water splashed everywhere, but House couldn't find it in himself to be angry with them; after all, if they hadn't left, they'd get caught with pot, and then they'd have no problem letting the police know just who had given it to them. So he had no choice but to stand there and face Cuddy's wrath all alone.

"Are you stupid?" she asked suddenly, loudly. It wasn't the question he was prepared for, so he didn't have an answer before she continued. "Have you, after years of being an idiot, suffered from permanent memory loss, because I remember a conversation, what, two weeks ago? About prostitutes and –"

"You think they're hookers?" In spite of himself, the smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. No doubt it would just irritate Cuddy further, but House couldn't help it; the idea amused him more than it should have.

"_Yes_," she hissed. "And just so we're clear, inviting them _here_ for a pool party on top of the hospital?" She sneered with disgust. "Is _not _okay."

"They're not prostitutes."

"I don't believe that."

"You don't have to," he said with a shrug. "Facts don't need to be believed in in order for them to be true; that's why they're facts. And just as you don't have to _believe_ that dress is too tight for your ass, you don't have to believe they're not prostitutes. Nevertheless, I can practically see my leftover semen swimming inside you and the women you just kicked out are teenagers who –"

"I don't care."

He stopped talking then. Since they'd started dating, he'd learned that when she used that tone, she was no longer interested in discussion. Chances were high that she relied on that voice during work hours as well, that he had been exposed to this behavior long before he was fucking her. Equally high was the likelihood that he had ignored that behavior for years, instead demanding that she actively negotiate the win she clearly wanted. Now that they were dating though… he couldn't do that. He couldn't treat her like a delicate flower either, of course. Literally he was incapable of that. But he recognized that there had to be the occasional show of leniency. If he pushed her too hard, never giving her a break, that would create problems he couldn't readily solve. And though part of him wanted to grab hold of her and forcibly guide her through the mental process, he understood:

She wasn't ready to do that.

Any attempt on his part would make her even angrier. Which he might not have minded under normal circumstances, but infuriated Cuddy and being on top of a multi-story building she could shove him off of didn't exactly seem like a winning combination, so he wasn't going to push her.

"You're going to clean this up, and then you're going to go back to _work_."

"But –"

"And _I'm_ going to pretend like this didn't happen." He opened his mouth to say something, but she just spoke louder, so that he couldn't get a word in at all. "Because I distinctly remember saying that I wasn't going to keep dating you if you insisted on hiring prostitutes, and I _know_ that you're not a complete idiot who would think that you could bring hookers to _my_ hospital and get away with it. So I'm going to pretend like I didn't see this, because if I think about what you've done or why, I will probably push you off the roof of this building."

"Cuddy, I –"

"Stop talking," she snapped. "Clean it up."

She turned on her heels then for an abrupt and dramatic exit. But as soon as she moved, it appeared as though leaving might be more complicated than originally anticipated. Both of their eyes shifted to the door… which was now inexplicably closed.

Cuddy, obviously desperate to leave, asked dimly, "Why is the door closed?" It wasn't a question she wanted or needed an answer for. If it were, she would have waited for a response before taking off towards the damn thing. When she tried to wrench the door open – and failed – he wasn't surprised. The teenagers had obviously closed the thing behind them, and now, for better or worse, he was trapped up here with Cuddy.

He didn't know if that had been an intentional move on the girls' parts. Had they known that Cuddy was his girlfriend and this was their way of ensuring he got the romantic/apologetic lunch that he wanted? Or were they simply idiotic, closing the door because they thought they should or because one of the teens had accidentally kicked the stop out of the way? Truthfully there was no rational way to know what had happened.

That, however, didn't stop Cuddy from jumping to conclusions.

Nearly stomping towards him once more, she snarled, "What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Let me out."

He was tempted to say that technically she was _out_, but he knew that that wouldn't go over well. "I don't have a key."

"Call those women back up and have them let me out."

"I have no way of doing that," he admitted honestly. In his head, the plan went that she would willingly stay up here and have lunch with him. She would relax in the sun with him and eat the lunch he'd bought for her in between rubbing sunscreen into her shoulders. An hour later she would regretfully leave and go back to work, but that night she would thank him multiple times over and forget all about that messy business involving Rachel and the dime.

At no point had he thought that Cuddy would believe he was with prostitutes. There was never a moment in his mind where she started off being beyond furious – annoyed that he was taking time off of work to do this, sure, but ready to rip his head off? He hadn't budgeted that possibility into his plan. And he certainly hadn't anticipated his little _helpers_ being so stupid as to lock them both outside on top of the roof. If he had, he would have brought his phone or told his team where he was going. He would have sent Wilson a quick text or something.

He would not have come up here unprepared.

He would not have created a situation where he had to tell his angry girlfriend that she was, in fact, trapped up here. But that was precisely the predicament they were in. And so he was hesitant to admit it, though he had no choice.

"I don't have my cell phone."

She didn't believe him. She didn't say that; she didn't say anything at all. Yet her thoughts were obvious to him, as she reached into his jeans pockets.

"I really don't," he told her calmly as she dug her fingers into the back pockets of his pants. "Although you're free to keep groping my ass. But if you do, I'm gonna start returning the favor, so –"

"Where is it?" she demanded, pulling her hands away from him. Her eyes searched the rooftop desperately.

"I told you: I don't have –"

"You're lying."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you want to keep me up here."

There was no point in saying that he would prefer her to leave if she were going to behave like _this_. The fact of the matter was Cuddy would never believe anything he had to say at the moment. Even if she hadn't returned to the door and started futilely banging against it, she wouldn't listen to him. For her it was obvious: he had brought prostitutes up here to… he didn't know, embarrass her perhaps? And having done that, he now also wanted her, according to her, to be trapped on the rooftop with him.

It made no sense, none whatsoever, but pissed off at him, she wasn't in the right mindset to appreciate that. And therefore there was no reason for him to even try to explain that to her. She would just get angrier and even less likely to listen to him in that case.

So he had no choice but to back away from the argument. Sitting down in one of the lawn chairs, he closed his eyes to ward off the bright sun. He'd thought of everything, he told himself. Chairs and umbrella, sunscreen and a pool with cold water, the cooler of food and drinks… the words he would say in apology when he finally confessed that _maybe_ he had known more about Rachel than he'd initially let on when Cuddy had first discovered the dime.

He really had thought of everything.

He hadn't thought of this.

With the sounds of her pounding on the door to punctuate the moment, House sighed.

* * *

She stayed by the door for nearly an hour. Her knocks on the metal gradually decreased in their voracity, as though she was slowly coming to the realization that there were no lurkers nearby eager to offer her freedom. Every now and then, she would still make a feeble bang against the door, but her lack of enthusiasm told him that she had all but given up hope. And frankly if she stayed away from him now, it was more because she was pissed off than because she actually believed someone would rescue her.

He wished that wasn't the case. Her skin was turning from pale to pink, and the longer she stayed out of the shade, where he was, the more burned she was going to be. Naturally, he didn't speak up or say anything to her about it or anything else for that matter. Nothing he said would get through to her, because she needed to take the time to calm down – and _he_ needed to let her.

That was hard. He wasn't going to lie and say that it was easy being ten feet away from her and unable to make her see reason. But it had to be done. So he calmly sat in the shade underneath the umbrella. His bare feet in the kiddy pool, a glass of lemonade in his hand, he waited for her to come to him.

It took another ten minutes before burned and sweaty, she finally accepted defeat.

"Why did you do this?" she barked as she moved to stand next to him.

"I –

"No, you know what? I don't want to know." Her hand quickly, almost frantically wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead.

Instantly he decided that this wasn't working. He'd tried to let her calm down on her own, but the longer he waited for that to happen, the less capable she seemed of soothing herself, the more obvious it was he needed to do something.

"They weren't prostitutes," he said simply.

"Don't –"

"I'm not lying. I know what it looked like, but I'm telling you what it _is_." He tried to give her an as imploring a look as possible, but he wasn't sure if he'd pulled it off. "It was a group of teenagers. Granted they were cheerleaders – who were in the hospital already, because their coach went into labor while they were washing cars or something…. Wasn't really listening – but the point _is_ I've never paid them for sex. I just wanted their help."

She was unmoved. "And in a hospital filled with people who could _help_ you, you chose –"

"They were young and athletic, which meant they wouldn't have any problems lugging everything up to the top flight, one. Two, they weren't the patient, which meant they were in a position to help me. Three, they're teenagers and girls, so I knew they would be more inclined to _want_ to help me since young girls tend to appreciate romance unlike their _aged_ and _bitter_ counterparts," he explained irritably.

As soon as the words were spoken, he knew he needed to fix his mistake. Frowning he admitted in a low voice, "That got away from me a little."

"You think?"

It took him a second to muster up the contrition necessary to apologize. "I'm sorry – is that what you want to hear? I really am. Those girls weren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to see them. If I'd known you were going to come up here early, I would have made Wilson my bitch."

"So you're sorry you got caught."

"The _only_ thing you caught me doing is something nice for my girlfriend."

"What is _nice_ about this, House?" Had the day been cooler, she might have been able to see the point. But she was hot, and they were stranded, and furious, she couldn't appreciate what he had done… sadly.

"_Trying_ to do something nice then."

She shakes her head. "I didn't ask you to –"

"That's kind of the point. I make you happy. You –"

"Just shut up, okay?" She started fanning herself. "It's too hot to listen to you talk."

"Sit down," he suggested as neutrally as possible. "It's a little better in the shade."

Cuddy didn't listen right away. She eyeballed both chairs before essentially whining, "Your chair has more shade than this one."

He got out of his seat as quickly as his leg would let him. Regardless of whether or not he _wanted_ to be considerate, he would never hear the end of it if he stayed where he was. "Sit down," he repeated, and finally she listened.

That was a good start. He knew, however, that he would need to do much more if he hoped to put her in a decent mood. Setting his lemonade down by his chair, he then dipped back into the cooler to grab one for her. When he handed it out to her, she tentatively took it.

After she'd taken a small sip, she warned him, "If I have to pee..."

"We'll be okay. Someone will go looking for you eventually, especially once they realize that I'm also missing."

Cuddy grimaced at the thought, which just demonstrated that she took no comfort in the idea. "Great. They probably think we're having sex in a janitor's closet or –"

"They've believed _that_ for years. Don't worry about that now."

She glared at him. "What else am I supposed to do up here? Burn? I don't exactly have anything to do while –"

"You hungry?" he asked before she could throw a fit that would make Rachel marvel at her immaturity. "I have some of that fruit salad you like from the farmer's –"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I already told you," he said, snapping the cooler shut. If she wanted something, she could search through what he had on her own later. Even when thinking that though, he couldn't help but move down to her feet. Crouching down on the cement roof as best he could, he grabbed one of her ankles. Predictably she tried to kick him away in shock.

"What are you doing?"

He said nothing, just started pulling off her shoes. Although he kept his gaze on her feet while he gingerly set the heels aside, he could tell that she was staring at him. Perhaps she thought that he was going to try to have sex with her, or maybe she was curious, but either way, she was tolerant of his ministrations. Grabbing her right ankle, he gently pulled her foot toward him and then set it in the kiddy pool. She'd been carrying on long enough that the water wasn't as cool as it had once been. Yet it must have been cold enough for her, because she sighed in relief. Voluntarily, she jammed her other foot into the water.

She closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against her chair. House knew better than to believe that she was content with the situation. Far from it, she looked relaxed... but capable of tensing up instantly if he should say the wrong thing. So he kept quiet and rummaged through his bag of supplies until he found sunscreen.

"I don't want you to get burned," he explained before he started massaging some of the lotion into her mostly bare shoulders. Miserable, she eyed him but allowed him to continue. It probably wouldn't make that much of a difference at this point. She was already turning red. If they were up here all afternoon, she'd burn. Her fair skin hadn't been part of the plan either. In a perfect world, the second she'd come onto the roof, he would have taken her underneath the umbrella to keep her safe. He hadn't anticipated having to fight her the whole time.

He was a moron for thinking it would go any other way.

Unhappily he sat down in the chair next to her after he'd finished. Possibly sensing that he'd admitted internally to his mistake, she looked over at him.

This time when she spoke, her voice was calm. "Be honest with me. You knew Rachel had swallowed a dime."

"I didn't give it to her," he said defensively.

"I know that, but I also know you're not telling me something."

He squirmed in his chair. "All right. Wilson and I –"

"_Wilson_ knows?" Then as an afterthought, she added, "Why am I not surprised?"

"He was there when it happened," House admitted. "We were stupid."

She didn't seem mad when she said almost consolingly, "It was an accident."

"It was. Then we thought maybe she was fine." He was reluctant to talk about how they'd tried to treat Rachel, but he supposed it needed to be done. If he was going this far, he might as well confess the rest. "We snuck her into the hospital. Gave her –"

"What do you think I should be angrier about?" she asked honestly. "That you left money within Rachel's reach and, when you weren't looking, she ate it? Or that you _kept_ from me that something might be wrong with my daughter? That you brought her to the hospital, apparently _treated_ her medically, ran _tests _on her, didn't even give me the _option_ of being with her?"

When she put it like that, he didn't know how to respond. She was right, completely. He'd been so afraid of getting caught that he hadn't noticed the greater offense he'd committed. Was still committing by not telling her what had happened, he thought heavily.

He would have been surprised by Cuddy's ability to see through him, but his behavior only seemed to scream that he had done something terrible.

Suddenly, a romantic lunch on the roof felt entirely wrong. He should have been upfront with her. He should have copped to it after Rachel had turned out okay, at the very least. What he was doing now looked as though he was trying to buy her off, distract her, so that she would never know or care about the truth. That was stupid though, because Rachel was Cuddy's daughter. If there were ever a reason for Cuddy to give into the slightest inkling of suspicion she might have had, this would be it.

He was _such_ an idiot.

As the thought hit him, Cuddy reached over and brushed back his hair, which had become damp with sweat. "It's okay," she told him. "I know why you did it."

That was hardly any consolation. "Doesn't make it right. I should have told you."

"Pretty sure that's my argument," she said with a tiny smile. "Keep your eyes on your own paper."

"I'm… I'm sorry." He struggled to say it, resented needing to say it, but did.

"I know."

"What do I do?" he asked sincerely. It had been a long time since he was in a relationship, and the last serious girlfriend he had had been Stacy. It wasn't like there'd been any kids involved with that. And considering he wasn't like Wilson, didn't seek out potentially complicated relationships with women, House hadn't anticipated this type of situation. He didn't know how to make things better when a little girl swallowing money had made them worse.

On the other hand, Cuddy had an immediate solution. "Don't do it again."

He seemed doubtful of her plan's efficacy. "That's it?"

"I like it when you're honest, so yes."

"Really? You want me to be honest? And that's it?"

She shrugged then changed the subject. "This isn't so bad, I suppose."

She was finally talking about her surroundings, but he hated the new topic. He'd been wanting to hear her say it, but now he just wanted to know that he'd been forgiven, that everything between them was okay. It didn't seem like it could be. If she wasn't willing to discuss the matter anymore though, what else could he do but follow her lead?

"Yeah, well, next time, I'll make sure to keep the door unlocked."

"And those girls?"

"Believe me, I've learned my lesson. Would you also like me to have Masters wear a burqa while we're working together or should I only avoid, excluding you of course, extremely attractive –"

"You found them extremely attractive?" she said, nodding her head with mock display that didn't seem entirely fake.

"Did I say that? I was speaking _hypothetically_."

"Hypothetically. Sure."

He changed his mind about her. She was smirking now. Whatever concern he thought he'd seen in her face was gone. She was toying with him. That didn't stop him from telling her, "I don't want to be with anyone else. You're the only extremely, _extremely_ attractive woman I want to –"

"You'll show me tonight?" The question came out flatly, but there was an undertone of dirtiness that made House wish she were the type of girlfriend he could convince to have sex at work. Her foot lightly bobbed in the water, calling attention to her bare legs and skirt that was shorter than it should have been.

"Of course. I'll show you now too if –"

She waved a hand in the air. "That won't be necessary. It's too hot anyway." Shot down, he fell silent. She followed suit, but it didn't last long. Licking her lips, she said, "However, you can give me a preview for tonight."

He cleared his throat. "You mean –"

"Tell me what you're going to do to me." The way she said it was _hot_, intended to make him spend the rest of the day wanting her. House knew that he would have to be careful with how he answered the question. If he went too nasty, it would be all he could think about for the next couple hours. Unless he rubbed one out in the bathroom, but he would rather avoid that if possible. He wanted to give it all to her all night long….

He wanted to groan; she was tormenting him, using his imagination and desire for her against him. But he didn't even get a chance to think of the lewd things he had planned for her.

As she prompted him, "Go on," the sound of a shoe scuffing against the ground destroyed the intimate moment.

Both House and Cuddy turning their heads abruptly, they came face to face with a _very_ uncomfortable Taub.

"Please don't elaborate," Taub practically begged. Unconcerned Cuddy immediately pulled her feet out of the water and stood up. As she slipped into her heels, Taub said, "Test results are back."

"Get back to work, House," Cuddy ordered before walking away without so much as looking back.

Disappointed House stayed where he was for a moment.

"House?" Taub asked after a beat.

"You couldn't have waited another five minutes?"

"Sorry."

House frowned. This hadn't gone as he had wanted it to. They hadn't eaten. They'd spent most of their time fighting, and House hadn't even gotten a kiss out of the ordeal.

Then again, he hadn't lost her either. And given how terribly he had mishandled the whole thing, he had to accept that that was good enough. He'd bought himself another day, another chance to prove that he was worthy of Cuddy's love.

He suspected he hadn't earned anything more.

_The End_


End file.
